Back in the Saddle

by Ruth Logan Herne

  He took her hand as they hurried across the school parking lot. “Promise me one thing,” he said as they took the road back toward the smoke-filled town. “Promise me you won’t do anything crazy, foolish, or dangerous when we get back down there, okay?”

  “By whose definition?”

  It was pointless. He realized that right away. Ange wasn’t like any other woman he knew. “You’ve got a little boy to raise. Think first. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I know. But I realized something tonight.” She paused, looking up at him. “I loved this. Being part of a rescue; being back in the action. It was like coming home.”

  He recognized the hunger in her eyes, the need to be who she really was—a trained officer. He heard the longing in her voice. He read the yearning in her eyes. They’d sort it out later, when they could think straight. Right now, there was work to be done.

  Extra hose companies had arrived while they sat with the MacDonald kids, which meant better odds, but as Colt mentally calculated the damage, he knew today’s hit to Gray’s Glen might be insurmountable.

  Four houses and two small businesses had burned in the time they cared for Maura’s children. Nearby residential properties and businesses had suffered major smoke and water damage. Lives and livelihoods had been forever changed by the combination of elements. The beautiful historic church, where his father and mother had married, was now an empty shell of scorched stone walls. As he contemplated the skeletal structure of the church, he wondered how this had happened. He’d sat in that church this very morning, holding a small child, hearing words he’d long ignored, and now the structure lay in pieces before him.

  Maybe that’s the thing. Maybe you’re supposed to help pick up those pieces. Put things back together. You’ve spent years working in the shadow of Ground Zero, watching people repair. Rebuild. Gather and pray.

  Maybe now it’s your turn, here, at home.

  A curl of something warm swirled within him.

  Angelina moved off to help Rye. Colt tracked down Trey and took his place behind his younger brother. As he followed the barked orders of the fire chief for the next several hours, his brain worked overtime. He’d come back to town a fallen man. He might not have access to personal funds to shore up the town’s demise, but he had rugged hands, a good head, and a strong back. One way or another Gray’s Glen would be rebuilt, and the Staffords would be right there in the thick of it.

  “Is Dad dying?” Trey faced the group of tired, dirty, fire-battling friends and family just before dawn, and the sadness in his eyes tugged Angelina’s heart.

  She chose her words with care. “Not from yesterday’s issues. It seems the cracked lower rib resplit and punctured his lung. That’s what caused him to need intervention. They’re confident they’ve got that fixed, aren’t they, Nick?”

  Nick took a swallow of coffee and stood, cradling his mug. “Yes. But he needs to rest more to let the bones heal, and he’s not the greatest patient in the world.”

  “Amen to that,” mumbled Hobbs. “Ornery old coot is what he is, just like me. I ain’t fixin’ to go to my own reward yet, so I’m not keen on seein’ Sam go neither. Bones heal, sure as shootin’. It’s this liver thing that’s got me wakin’ up, prayin’.”

  “I noticed the yellow tinge to his skin,” Trey said. “What are they doing about it?”

  Nick turned to Angelina. “Can you fill him in so I don’t sound stupid?”

  Colt snorted, Trey grinned, and Nick almost smiled. Hobbs and McMurty settled back to hear the scoop.

  “He’s got liver cirrhosis caused by hepatitis C and too much drinking back in the day.”

  Murt shot a guilty look to Hobbs. Hobbs ducked his head, and she knew why. Sam had told her that he and the guys had gotten wasted many times when the boys were small.

  “They’ve tried to arrest the progress of the disease, and that’s key,” Angelina went on. “If they can, he should do all right.”

  “If they can’t?” Trey asked.

  She didn’t mince words. “He’ll die without a liver transplant.”

  “But we’re nowhere near that, are we, Ange?” Nick set down his coffee mug and tugged on his gloves, a signal to everyone that there was work to be done, sleep or no sleep. Last night’s wind hadn’t brought much rain, which had meant greater disaster to the town, but possibly less harm to the ranchers. Colt grabbed his gear while Angelina continued.

  “I think we’re closer than we’ve believed the last couple of months.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “If it’s not reversing itself or being stopped by their intervention, then there’s no choice. Maybe the broken ribs are making liver healing harder or vice versa, but from the way he’s been the past few weeks, I think there’ll be some big decisions coming soon.”

  “Do they have him on a transplant list?” Trey asked. Standing with his brothers he didn’t look much like Nick and Colt, but the strong jaw and steady gaze were similar. He might not be a biological sibling, but he couldn’t escape the Stafford blood.

  “Not yet.” Angelina finished her coffee and stood as well. “But my guess is they will. When do you have to go back, Trey?”

  He looked unhappy. “Tonight. I have two more winter tour dates. Then I’m done until next winter.”

  “No summer tour?” Nick asked. He shook his head. “I needed a break.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be cutting an album?” Murt asked. “Annie read it in the weekly, and she was all excited about a new Trey Walker thingamabobber.”

  “Do they still call them albums?” Colt asked as he grabbed his hat. “Even though they’re MP3s or CDs?”

  “They do,” Trey said. “And there are lots of folks out there who still think a 33⅓ vinyl outranks a CD anytime, anywhere.”

  “And they’re the kind who probably don’t appreciate microwave ovens,” Angelina remarked, throwing them a wry look. “Let me know if you guys decide to end your work day early in order to catch some sleep. I can have a midday meal ready.”

  “Sleepin’ in the saddle sounds ’bout right, right now,” joked Hobbs. Then his expression turned serious. “You know, dealin’ with that fire last night near broke my heart. My mama had me baptized in that stone church. But seein’ you two”—he looked at Angelina and Colt—“haul them babies out of that burnin’ house…” His voice caught as he fought back emotion. “Seein’ kids like Brendan right there in the thick of things doin’ whatever he was told, then comin’ here to the big house where ‘our’ kids slept safe helped me. It give me a hope I haven’t had in a lot of years. Not lackin’ in God. My hope there’s done okay. But in us. In Gray’s Glen. And that felt mighty good.”

  “Shut up, old man.” Murt gave Hobbs a horrified look and a gentle shove toward the door. “You’ll have us all kabobbin’ like a clutch of old hens with your talk of hope and crap like that. Let’s get to work.”

  “I think it’s sweet,” said Angelina. “I think you’re right, Hobbs. It’s time we all worked together to make Gray’s Glen the town it should be.”

  She felt Colt’s eyes on her but didn’t dare look at him. They’d turned some kind of corner last night, saving little lives, working together, sharing kisses on the run. She could still feel the grip of his fingers, strong and steady, wrapped around her palm, holding firm. The warmth of his embrace, the texture of his mouth touching hers. So perfect. So…

  And when Colt didn’t follow the other men out the door, when he rounded that breakfast bar, slipped an arm around her waist, and drew her in for a sweet, long kiss good-bye, she didn’t think at all. How could she when the pressure of his mouth and the safety of his strong arms made her feel delightfully whole and fairly invincible?

  “I’ll be back.” He whispered the words, his forehead to hers, his voice husky. Touched by Hobbs’s words perhaps. Or lack of sleep and smoke inhalation and amazing kisses…and then Hobbs’s words.

  He left her with one last, lingering kiss to her temple, so tender and good it left her
weak kneed. After the door shut firm behind him, she walked into the front room, sat, and hugged a pillow to her chest.

  “Now I see through a glass, darkly…”

  But what did she see? And who could she trust? Ethan had left her and their son without a backward glance. She’d lost her dad not long after. Her mother’s longing to go back to Seattle seemed in sync with the department’s invitation to welcome her back. So why let things get convoluted? Wasn’t simple better? Safer? Because she’d gone through the whole broken-heart thing and had no reason to repeat the debacle.

  “Fear not,” Isaiah proclaimed often. She’d believed that when she accepted the badge of a policewoman—until life turned upside down.

  The rooster’s crow heralded the approaching dawn. The big white Aracauna cross didn’t like strong winds. He’d cowered in his chicken house, waiting for the air to mellow, and now it had.

  Footsteps sounded upstairs.

  She sighed, tucked away troublesome thoughts, and returned to the kitchen. According to the latest reports, there would be no school again, probably for days. The town was blacked out, and the middle school would be a shelter until at least Wednesday. That meant more time with Nick’s girls and Rye’s brother and sister. Later in the day she’d take the long way around to the hospital. Sam would be chafing, wanting an update, wanting to come home. From the looks of the men, not one of them would be allowed through a hospital door until they’d showered and shaved and put on clean clothes.

  She needed to talk to Sam alone anyway. He might be contentious and tough with others, but he’d taken good care of her and her family over the last two years. He’d become like a second father to her, and she’d tried to bless him in kind, but the stark truth had been cemented when Colt kissed her a little while ago—she couldn’t possibly stay here once Colt left for New York. Not when every corner and crevice would remind her of Sam’s oldest son and what couldn’t be.

  Maybe her plan for a new start back in Seattle was exactly what she needed.

  “Any wind damage on the west face?” Nick asked as Colt and Hobbs rode up alongside him.

  “Shed’s gone.” Hobbs snorted. “The wind mighta done us a favor on that one. Nice insurance claim for an eyesore building past its prime.”

  “That’s it? The west barn and yards are fine?”

  “Whoever thought to put the stockyard on the east side of the barn deserves a raise,” said Colt. “The young seed bulls huddled up, and the barn broke the wind. They didn’t seem spooked at all.”

  “Murt’s idea when we re-fenced.” Nick gave the mottled cattle dog a quick whistle. BeeBee darted around the far cows’ legs until they went Nick’s way. “It wouldn’t have worked so well in the open, but on the windward side of the hill it makes perfect sense.”

  “We’ve got over three hundred market calves to deliver yet.” Colt backed Yesterday’s News out of the way. “What are the chances of cutting me loose in a week to help rebuild the town?”

  Nick, Hobbs, and Murt exchanged looks. “Once we’ve dropped most of ’em, I think we’d be fine,” Murt said. “You got the urge to get handy?”

  “I want to help.”

  Nick sharpened his expression. “You remember how to drive a nail? Because I don’t expect you’ve practiced in a while.”

  “Like riding a bike. Or a horse.” Colt urged Yesterday’s News up the hill. “Let’s get these gals moved. When we’re done I’ll ask in town when they expect to begin demolition and cleanup.”

  “Rye said not till all the smolderin’s done,” Hobbs said. “So likely a few days. But maybe we could get a town meeting together and talk about what’s what.”

  Colt looked at Hobbs. “What do you mean?”

  “Three of them properties that burned were Stafford owned. Your dad bought up half a dozen places on Chelan Pass a bunch of years back. With him being sick and all, he might not want to rebuild.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to rebuild?” Colt asked. “Where would those people go if he doesn’t?”

  When Hobbs looked anywhere but at him, Colt understood. “Because cold, hard insurance cash is more bottom-line friendly than rebuilding so people can get back into their homes.”

  “I ain’t sayin’ he wouldn’t help. I’m just sayin’ that might make a difference.”

  Hobbs was right. Hadn’t Colt made plenty of decisions the past nine years based on bottom line alone? He hadn’t bothered with neighborhood pleas, employees’ hard-luck stories, or outcries on Facebook. He’d forged ahead doing what needed to be done to maintain the financial integrity of his investors’ holdings.

  He couldn’t hate his father for the very sin that felled the son. But Colt was determined to support the town with or without Sam’s financial assistance. On top of that, he didn’t intend to waste a whole lot of time sitting around a conference room talking about it. Staffords didn’t talk a thing to death. They acted. And right now, that was a good quality for the father to have passed on to his son.

  “I can’t die yet.” Sam sat more upright as Angelina walked through the door to his hospital room that midafternoon. “There’s too much to do. What a stupid, bad time to get kicked around by a cow. And now the town’s in a ruckus, nearly burnt down—” He glared at her as if waiting for her to appease him.

  She sat down next to him, took his hand, and bowed her head.

  He sighed, impatient.

  She squeezed his hand, and not all that gently either. “Knock it off. Listen to your heart, your faith, and your body.”

  “My heart says I’m running out of time, my faith’s on an unpaved road, and my body’s pretty well shot,” he retorted.

  “Ay yi yi.” She looked skyward as if seeking celestial intervention. “Has it occurred to you that God may have given you an amazing opportunity to help others in the form of this natural disaster?”

  He rested against his pillows, considering her words.

  “Your sons have gathered around you for the first time in almost a decade. They want to help you. And now the town’s been grievously hurt. Maybe God’s message is for you to sit back, heal, and let the younger generation rise to the occasion.”

  “I don’t like sitting around doing nothing.”

  “That’s apparent by the fact that you managed to pop a rib loose and deflate a lung. How do you expect your liver to heal if you can’t breathe?” she asked practically. “Last I looked, oxygen was a requirement. Not a choice.”

  He sighed. “I know you’re right. But I want to be home. All three of my boys are here. That’s been a long time coming.”

  “Trey has to leave tonight.”

  Sam’s face fell, and the true emotion of the moment made her soften. “But he’s coming by to see you—”

  “In case I kick the bucket while he’s gone,” mumbled Sam, aggravated.

  “He’s coming to see how you’re doing,” she corrected and took his hand into hers again. “He told me that you sent him off to help last night. How you insisted you’d be fine.”

  “I figured the town might need another strong back and pair of hands.”

  “You were kind and generous and right.” Her assurance seemed to calm him. “He’s coming to say good-bye and to tell you he’ll return for a longer visit when his winter concert tour is over.”

  “You think he will?”

  “I know he will,” she said. “He said so, and he’s a man of his word. And really nice, by the way.”

  “Maybe too nice.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no such thing, Sam.”

  “He hung in longer than he should have when his wife started using drugs again. Some things refuse to be fixed. I saw it with his mother and his father and others along the way. Sometimes you have to know when to cut loose.”

  “A smart guy like you knows that addictions wear on the head, the heart, the health, and the soul. There’s nothing easy about overcoming them. You did some heavy drinking in your time. In light of your current circumstances, I would think you�
�d have more empathy.”

  “Drinking was bad enough. Drugs?” He shook his head. “I never understood the risk. A person with half a brain could see the danger involved, so why do it?”

  “Temptation comes in many forms.” She tightened her grip on his hand because she needed to broach a different topic he wouldn’t like. “You know I’ve gotten an offer from Seattle. I wanted you to know I’m seriously considering it.”

  “You really want to leave?” Sam’s surprise was followed by concern. “Why? Is it money? Because I can pay you more. I’ll match whatever they’re offering. We need you here, Angelina.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I need you here.”

  She knew this would be hard, but she hadn’t realized her heart would actually ache. “I loved my job on the force. I excelled at it, like my father before me.”

  “I get that part,” said Sam. Reluctance deepened his tone. “But you’re good on the ranch too, Angelina. And that’s not a given around here.”

  “I also love being on the ranch,” she said, “overseeing things, bossing around a bunch of somewhat clueless cowboys. And I love living here. It’s got to be one of the beautiful spots on earth, Sam.”

  That earned her a slight smile.

  “But it’s not what I was meant to do.” She sighed. “Responding to last night’s emergency made me realize that I worked hard to excel on the force because I wanted my dad to be proud of me.”

  “And he was.”

  “Yes. But I think if he were here now, he’d say, ‘Chica, what are you doing? Are you afraid to be who you are, who the good Lord meant you to be?’ ” She raised her eyes. “And he’d be right. I need to wear the badge again. I need to feel like I’m doing what God designed me to do. And I need to see to my mother’s happiness, to take her back to what she knows best. I’m all she has, and I can’t send her back alone, away from her only grandchild. That would be wrong.” She paused. “I won’t leave for a while. I’m going to see you through this sickness.”

  “No need, I’ll be fine.”

  Disappointment shadowed his face. Gruff, he pulled his hand away, but Angelina wasn’t ready to let him slip back into the dark den of anger he’d called home for so long. “Don’t do this.”